Undertaken

This afternoon I was in the shower while RJ napped a few yards from me. His presence was comforting, reassuring. It filled me with peace and bliss. Pondering the wonder of how we got here rendered me quite emotional.

There are so many clichés about love, so much literary and musical material pertinent to the subject already, how could one possibly have anything to add? It's all been said and done. No insight could sprout.

I have resisted the phrase "true love" which I find redundant. Love is or isn't.

So what is love?

Love grows, as it should. Everything about this person delights you. They smile and your heart sings. If you remember how you loved as a child, unrelenting, unbridled, unabashed. If you've ever loved a child. It allows you to care deeply, with no reserve, transports you to a paradoxical state of vulnerability and strength. Instead of fearing the vulnerability, you embrace it. You celebrate it. You so want this person to be happy. If they need a kidney, cornea, stem cells, bone marrow. Take it, take it so that they may live, even if they outlive you, you gladly want this. May they live, and be fine, just as soon as they are done mourning the loss of you. But, wait, may my beloved never have to grieve so, to experience such pain - not when you won't be around to emolliate any.

My Dad has said that when you love someone, the unthinkably illogical wish is that they'll pass before you, so that you will suffer in lieu of the beloved.

As my thoughts race, I am choked up. I have not loved with such abandon in a long time. Probably not as an adult.

No matter what kind of day I'm having, I remember that I get to go home to RJ at the end of the day. It always brings joy.

I may not have illuminated the subject of love in a new way. Love has certainly illuminated and renewed me.